


Poor Lazarus

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-28
Updated: 2008-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two dead men on a motel bed, and not a punchline in sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poor Lazarus

**Author's Note:**

> (gasp! I wrote wincest!)

There's a work team somewhere nearby, a line of men toiling in the dust and the sunshine. Dean can hear the rhythmic thud of their shovels, and more faintly, the sound of voices rising up in song, and he tries to focus on the words, on the thud of metal against the hard earth, because he _can't_ -

 _Well the deputy he told the high sheriff_

"Dean," Sam says. His breath brushes Dean's ear and Dean flinches involuntarily. He turns his head away from his brother, presses his face into his pillowcase (the shovels ring out). Sam's sitting next to him, one hand planted in the pillow beside Dean's head. He traces Dean's pulse, up along his neck to the shell of his ear.

"Dean. Dean, _look at me_ ," Sam says, and Dean's eyes flick to his brother's face. Sam's eyes are gentle, but the thin line of his mouth and the tic in his jaw give away his impatience. Sam's got plenty of little tells and Dean knows every last one. He wonders when this happened, when Sam decided to just- let go. Probably, Dean thinks, after the hell hounds.

 _Says I ain't gonna mess with Lazarus_

Maybe it was before that. Maybe it was after Cold Oak. He'd noticed the changes, he'd seen the body count (four demons, five humans, Gordon). He'd _seen_ the changes in his brother but he hadn't _done_ anything about it, really, because once Dean was gone he figured Sam was going to need all the help he could get. Any help he could get.

Sam presses a thumb against Dean's lips, leans dangerously close. There's a cruel, clever shine to Sam's eyes and Dean turns his head away again.

 _Well he's a dangerous man_

Two dead men on a motel bed, and not a punchline in sight. Or here's a punchline for you: Sam says "Dean, _please_ ," and takes Dean's chin in his hand, forces Dean to look at him. "I love you," he says.

"Sammy," Dean says, his voice sticking in his throat. _Stop_. Sam huffs, a small annoyed sound, and then his fingers tangle in Dean's hair. He pulls Dean's head back, baring his throat (the shovels dig deep). Dean shudders when Sam presses a kiss on the side of his neck.

Dean closes his eyes and opens his mouth when Sam kisses him. He loves his brother, he does. Just, lately, he he wishes he was dead.

 

 **_  
_ **

 


End file.
